


Conversational Pteranodon 101

by ckret2



Series: Red Sprite & the Golden Ones (Rodorah slowburn oneshots) [9]
Category: Godzilla (2014), Godzilla - All Media Types, Godzilla: King of The Monsters (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Kaiju Linguistics, Language Barrier, Linguistics, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 12:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20930303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckret2/pseuds/ckret2
Summary: Rodan is getting frustrated with Ghidorah’s inability to understand that he’s inviting them into his nest, so he’s got no choice but to teach them the local language.By throwing rocks at them.





	Conversational Pteranodon 101

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 11.
> 
> This is part of an ongoing series of Rodorah one-shots; but tbh it pretty much stands alone, no need to read the others to get this one. All you need to know is that Ghidorah didn't die and is skulking around on Isla de Mara.

The red sprite spoke to them sometimes.

They had no idea what he was saying. They could tell it was language—the sounds he made were short, shifting, and warbling—but they didn’t understand a word of it. Couldn’t even tell where the words divided.

They’d never let being unable to understand the aliens around them bother them before. Indeed, they’d found some sadistic pleasure in their detachment—a sense of smug superiority in the knowledge that those around them were trying to communicate with them, perhaps desperate to do so, but they could not and would not give the little aliens the satisfaction of being understood. They were unstoppable, inexorable, and implacable, because they could not even comprehend the pleas and bargains being flung at their feet.

But now the red sprite was talking to them, in bursts of words and long expectant looks; and for the first time they could remember, it bothered them that they didn’t know what he was trying to convey.

He’d recovered nicely from the wound the bug had given him. He flew around the island from time to time now—not far, and not to go anywhere, but flying a long loop over the sea to the east and continent to the west. Most days, when it was clear, he never left their sight. They’d usually watch him fly.

For a while, when they saw him coming back, they flew up to meet him so they could steer him toward landing on the north side of the island, where the breezes he stirred up wouldn’t disturb the machine makers on the south side of the island, until they’d trained him to do it automatically. This planet didn’t have the most advanced machine makers that they’d ever seen—but in the short time they’d been in ice, this new crop of machine makers that had sprung up out of nowhere had already learned to fly and make weapons that stung deeply. So they weren’t going to take any chances in letting the red sprite accidentally get on their bad side.

While the red sprite flew around, they didn’t. They had nowhere _to_ fly, nothing they wanted to see. Third thought they should. Sometime. Soon. Even if it was just aimless exploring. If they were staying on this world a while, they ought to get to know it a little better. Second argued that he had a point, and First reluctantly conceded that further exploration would be necessary soon; but they could start to get to know the world from the island, where they could also watch over their red sprite.

There wasn’t a lot of room to crawl around—a bit to east and west of the volcano, a medium patch of land to the north, a much shorter patch to the south before the volcanic rock ended and what remained of the machine makers’ buildings started. But, they had been engineered to live in confined spaces, and even after taking proportionate sizes into account, this wasn’t the smallest place they’d ever lived. Coastlines felt far freer than walls, anyway. They were content—for now, anyway—when they forced themselves not to remember how ephemeral this all was and how they should be burning down this world—they were content to crawl around what space on the island they had. There were strange plants to sniff, with green petals on tall stiff stalks; and there were machines that the machine makers left on the edges of their new territory to peer at, examine, and toss into the buildings where they belonged if they seemed too threatening.

They could be content with this for a little bit.

The red sprite, apparently, couldn’t.

His attempts at communication came more frequently now—sometimes while he perched in his volcano and they curled around the top near him, sometimes when he hopped down to meet them in the plants, sometimes when coming and going from the island. He called out in words they couldn’t understand; and when that didn’t work—how could it? they had no context to learn what the words referred to—he started hopping in front of them or beside them, expectantly, like he wanted to direct them to something, but when they waited for him to push them toward whatever he wanted to show them, he didn’t.

Eventually, he got fed up.

Which was why, one day, while First was nudging over a dead dolphin Third had found on the beach for them all to examine, a rock smacked Third in the head.

They whirled around, hissing, wings raised high to frighten back their assailant. Second jerked forward, snapping at the air. The red sprite hopped back a couple of steps and ducked his head. Him? They lowered their wings, confused. Why did he attack them?

Once they’d folded up their wings and settled on the ground, the red sprite carefully picked up a chunk of rock from the base of his volcano, expertly flipped it into the air, watched it as it fell, and then head butted it at them. This time, it hit First’s neck.

They drew back from the red sprite, deeply offended. What in the world was he doing? What was this pathetic excuse for an assault? Was he trying to say he didn’t even consider them worth fighting properly? After _they_ had blasted _him_ into the ocean on his own home turf?

The red sprite clearly enunciated a sound. Stared at them patiently. And then picked up another rock and repeated the process. This one landed between Second’s eyes. He snarled at the red sprite, electricity dancing around his teeth. The red sprite hopped back another step, and repeated the same sound.

Another rock went up. They slowly started to lift their wings again. But this time, when the rock came down, the red sprite smacked it high into the air with his beak. They all watched as it arced into the air and landed in the volcano. Was it supposed to do that? Had he been aiming for that?

The red sprite looked back at them, and clearly enunciated a different sound.

Oh—oh. Third snapped at First’s horns. Words! He was teaching them words. They dropped down to all fours again and took a few steps closer—not hissing this time. Okay, they got it now. They’d be an attentive student.

This time, when the red sprite knocked a rock at them that landed on their wing and rolled to the ground and repeated the first sound, First attempted to repeat it back. His tongue felt thick, too long, and unwieldy; his jaw wouldn’t move to make the sound he wanted, and felt like it stubbornly refused to slide into the position he wanted. He rubbed his face against Third’s neck, as though that would help. The problem was that it had been whole solar systems since they’d last spoken in any way that needed their mouths. The songs they sang to sway minds came from their chest, lungs, and throats. All they needed to do with their mouths was keep them open. Why did they need words when they could talk to each other with a thought?

Unsatisfied with First’s out of practice croak, red sprite repeated the sound several more times, as they each tried and failed to say it to red sprite’s satisfaction. Eventually, they got it through Second making the long rasping part that started down in their chest while First contributed the rising trill in the middle.

The red sprite looked between the two of them, like he was trying to figure out if they were cheating; but they repeated it, this time Third singing the high part and First singing the low, and the red sprite was apparently content that the trick, if not fair, was at least consistent. He knocked the rock into the volcano and they repeated the process for their second new word.

It wasn’t until they’d mastered “volcano” that they realized, with a collective jolt, that the first word he’d taught them had to be his name for them.

They had a name, now. All together, all three of them. They had a name. When was the last time they’d had a name?

Lesson concluded, the red sprite picked up another rock—were they going learn another word?—knocked it into their chest, hopped forward and picked it back up, and knocked it into the volcano. Then he said their name, said “volcano,” fluttered to the top, settled in the lava, and looked at them expectantly.

Oh. Ohhh, did he want them to—? They climbed up and paused just outside the remains of the machine maker structure circling the rim of the caldera. The red sprite shuffled back, leaving as much empty space as possible. He did. Why? Did he think they were cold? Did he want them to be more comfortable? Did he want them to be closer to him? Did he want—?

Their heart pounded faster. Their tails twisted and untwisted. Did he want…?

They climbed into the caldera.

The lava was barely on the tolerable side of hot, as long as they kept their wings out of it. Now that they were in the caldera with him, the red sprite visibly relaxed—but remained near the rim. They tried to settle down in the lava, letting it ooze around their legs and the bases of their twisted tails.

This wasn’t actually very pleasant, they decided.

They continued sitting anyway, waiting to see what exactly the red sprite wanted to do with them now that they were in the lava. They had theories—_a_ theory, anyway—a theory that tied them in knots.

Before they’d gotten frozen at the tip of the world, they’d occasionally seen other red sprites. Back then, they’d never paid much attention to the red sprites—but they had seen that each had its own private nest at the top of a volcano. They had seen that this was one of those planets where the animals by and large reproduced in pairs. They had seen the occasional pair of red sprite perched together on top of one’s volcano. They hadn’t _watched_ to see what the pairs _did_—but they could guess.

And now, they desperately wished they _had_ bothered to watch, just so they’d know what it looked like.

They even more desperately hoped that _their_ red sprite only wanted to nuzzle. Because that was all they were physically capable of offering him.

He watched them keenly from where he huddled, sitting near the rim, legs and the bottom of his wings in the lava. After a while, though, he stood and shook off the excess lava, flinging drops of liquid rock off so that as it dried on his wings it formed streaks. Then he hopped closer to them, looking up at them, gaze darting between their eyes. Expectantly.

They could feel their heart pounding in their throats. _They wanted to_.

Second corrected: _First_ wanted to.

Third re-corrected: Third kinda wanted to, too.

But it didn’t matter, if they _couldn’t_. And they couldn’t. How did they show him that? How did they indicate to him that they would accept if they were able (probably; depending on the one holdout), but they weren’t? That this wasn’t a rejection, but an impossibility?

How were they supposed to tell him that they did want him when they couldn’t show him with their body and when they only knew two words?

He continued to stare at them. But he didn’t make any other moves—didn’t come closer, didn’t gesture, didn’t speak. Maybe he was waiting for them to make the first move.

Finally—perhaps once he’d decided they weren’t going to do anything—he shuffled back from them and settled more comfortably in his nest, sinking down into the lava until only his shoulders, chest, and head were visible.

They needed to be able to communicate with him. They had to _understand_ each other. Two words weren’t going to hold them very long.

Third stretched over to the rim of the volcano, broke off a crumbly chunk of warm rock, and dropped it on the red sprite’s head. He blinked and shook his head to get the crumbling pebbles out of his eyes, then looked up at them attentively.

“Red sprite,” First said. Even speaking their most familiar language, his voice sounded wrong.

The red sprite fluttered his wings. “Respite!”

“Red… sprite.”

“Raw… spit.”

Second snorted. Well, they could work on that.

The red sprite picked up another rock, burst out of the lava and into the air. As he flew in a tight circle around them, he tossed the rock up, let it bounce and roll off his own back, and let out a long, carrying cry. Oh. Yes, of course—he already had a name of his own, didn’t he? They didn’t need to give him one.

Could he only say it while he was flying? They watched silently, hoping he would say it again; and after a moment he did. His name was synchronized with his flapping cycle, beginning as his wing reached its peak, extending in a long cry on the downstroke, fading on the upstroke.

They copied it as best they could—all three singing it together—lifting and lowering their wings enough to kick up dust along the volcano’s sides but not enough to lift up. For them to _truly_ say his name would require enough of a flap to risk kicking up a tropical depression.

The sound was apparently close enough to satisfy him. He landed in his nest again, settled down, and chirped.

It was a start.

The red sprite wasn’t chasing them out of his nest, so they assumed they were still welcome even if they weren’t doing whatever it was he was hoping for. They folded their wings in, curled in a crescent around the red sprite—their upper body tracing the circumference of the rim, legs in the caldera, tails wrapped loosely toward the middle where the red sprite sat.

They started brainstorming a list of other words they’d need to learn.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [tumblr](https://ckret2.tumblr.com/post/186227672872/conversational-pteranodon-101). Reblog/comment there are welcome (as are comments here)!
> 
> It's worth mentioning that the reason I keep bringing up the original publication date of these fics (and the reason they're all 3 months ago) is because I'm working through a backlog of fics originally posted on my blog. So, to those of you who want to encourage me to keep writing this series: I've already got you covered, I haven't even crossposted half of the series to AO3 yet. And I'm still writing more.


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